


taste you all the way to the stairway, honey

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Blowjobs, Jim is a Little Shit, M/M, McCoy is just. Suffering(TM), PWP, Public Sex, Spock is an even sneakier little shit, but not really, porn without plot/plot what plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Spock had walked in with a confident bounce in his step, back ramrod straight and hands clasped rigidly as ever, but with a heat in his eyes McCoy knew too well.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adenil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/gifts).



> written for adenil who prompted: imagine Spock under McCoy's desk for a spones nsfw prompt. hope you like it, friend! i certainly had fun writing this.

Spock had walked in with a confident bounce in his step, back ramrod straight and hands clasped rigidly as ever, but with a heat in his eyes McCoy knew too well. Spock hadn’t even bothered to knock or comm McCoy before hand—no, the Vulcan had just strolled right into McCoy’s office, let the doors slip shut behind him, and marched over to the large desk McCoy sat at. He hadn’t said a word, not even to engage the lock system for the door; Spock only sunk to his knees and somehow managed a fair amount of grace as he slid under the desk. It was a bit of a tight fit, one that made McCoy’s knees ache just to look at, but…

Well, it wasn’t a bad sight, either. Spock crammed under the table and his deft fingertips undoing McCoy’s pants, drawing out his rapidly hardening cock and opening his mouth. Far from a bad sight at all. McCoy had, at the time, a half a mind to protest, particularly knowing the door to his office wasn’t locked. But then Spock’s lips were on his cock, tongue teasing the slit so expertly, and any complaints or concerns went right out the damn airlock.

It was all going spectacularly well, Spock keeping McCoy on the edge of orgasm in a deliciously torturous manner, until...

 

“Jim!” McCoy startles; he cracks his knee against the side of the desk, very nearly against Spock’s shoulder. He considers himself damn lucky Spock has better control—a lesser man could’ve very well bit McCoy’s dick off, and that’s not something anyone needs to be dealing with. “Jim, what brings you by?” McCoy leans forward as though to mask what’s happening under the desk. He presses his elbows into the wood, clasps his hands and rests his chin atop his linked fingers.

Jim looks at him funny but doesn’t comment on that. “Need your opinion on something, Bones,” he prefaces before launching into something or other. In all honesty, McCoy hasn’t got the brain power to focus on the words coming out of Jim, much less make sense of the sentences being strung together. He nods whenever Jim looks at him for confirmation, and furrows his brow obediently whenever he senses an edge of Jim’s voice.

His breathing hitches when Spock resumes his suckling; it goes blessedly unnoticed by the captain, but McCoy can only wonder how long that can last. How long _he_ can last when Spock is sucking at his cock desperately, tongue tracing the veins on the underside.

“Bones.” Jim’s voice cuts through the fog of lust in McCoy’s mind, but only just. “Am I losing you?”

McCoy gulps uneasily. “Sorry Jim, guess I’m a bit distracted today.” He holds back a groan when skilled fingertips skirt inside his pants and start to fondle his balls. Spock knows exactly how to touch him, how to balance a gentle touch with the slightest scrap of pain, mixed with the dizzying wet heat of his mouth. “Honest, Jim, haven’t got a damn clue what you’ve been talking about.” McCoy hopes the flush on his face seems like one of shame, rather than pleasure, but he doesn’t think he’s fooling anyone. Least of all Jim.

“Right,” Jim says slowly. “Was just asking you on what you think of the plans for shoreleave, it’s coming up and we’ve got a fairly nice array of places to choose from this time around.”

McCoy opens his mouth to reply—it’s something he’s actually given some thought to, so he has an answer ready—but Spock’s fingers brushing his perineum have him gasping instead of speaking. He tries to cover the wanton noise with a hiccup, then devolves into an over-done coughing fit.

He comes out of the little display to see Jim looking caught between amused and unimpressed. Jim takes a moment to cover his mouth, and his snicker isn’t missed by McCoy in the slightest. “We can discuss it later,” Jim deigns. “Over dinner and brandy?”

McCoy swallows and waits a moment for Spock’s ministrations to stop; only after the suckling ceases and greedy fingertips pause does McCoy open his mouth again.

“Sounds good, Jim.”

Jim just grins at him, goes so far even to _wink_. “See you then, Bones.” He gives a cheeky wave and then he’s off.

The minute the doors shut behind him, McCoy calls out. “Door lock engage, override for myself and Spock only.”

A brief whirring before the telltale sound of the command being completed. McCoy sighs in relief and scoots back from the desk. As he looks down he catches the moment his cock slides from Spock’s spit-slick lips, obscenely pink and swollen.

“Good lord, Spock,” McCoy gasps. “Jim knows, god dammit, and he’s never going to let us live this down.”

Spock inches closer until he’s no longer stuck under the desk. He braces his hands on McCoy’s thighs and lets his breathing ghost over his lover’s still hard dick. “He has known of us for some time, Leonard.”

“Well, yeah, us _dating_ , but this—this is different!” McCoy sputters, waving his hands first at Spock’s lips, then to his own crotch where he’s still traitorously stiff.

Spock looks amused and McCoy inwardly groans. “We are all adults, I am sure the captain has been well aware of the concept of sex and its place in a relationship for some time now.” He smirks and then bends his head to kiss along McCoy’s shaft. He flicks his tongue out and traces the vein again, traces it all the way up until he can lap at the precome beading at the slit.

“Fuckin’ hell, Spock, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

Spock only gives him a trademark half smile before opening his lips in a perfectly obscene ‘o’ shape. Eyes bright with mischief he sinks his mouth onto McCoy’s cock again, inch by agonizing inch, until his lips are around the base. With a strangled groan, McCoy tangles a hand in Spock’s hair and grips the arm of his desk chair with his other hand.

“Fuck,” McCoy hisses as Spock begins to suck again, bobbing, his fingertips resuming their previous task of teasing McCoy’s balls. McCoy drops his head back and screws his eyes shut as he loses himself in Spock’s mouth. He opens his mouth in a moan, tightens his grip in Spock’s hair, before muttering—

“Definitely gonna be the death of me, _god_ , I love you.”


End file.
